The elevator doors opened onto a world Catalina had only seen in movies. Old money and modern interiors, richly combined. Everything was elegant, clean, silent - as though even the air had been polished.

The penthouse stretched on without end. Clean lines, expensive taste, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, marble floors gleaming under soft recessed lighting, furniture that whispered elegance rather than shouted it.

She walked in slowly, her reflection multiplying across the shining surfaces. "This place looks like it doesn't allow fingerprints."

Alejandro didn't answer. He handed his jacket to a uniformed woman who appeared almost without sound.

"Nina, this is Miss Rivas - the lady I told you about," he said, throwing her a knowing glance.

"Welcome, Miss Rivas." The woman, somewhere in her mid-forties, gave Catalina a brief nod. "I've prepared your room in the east wing," she said, and led the way, walking ahead of Mr. Montoya.

Catalina murmured a thank you, clutching her small bag like a shield, following slowly behind Montoya and Nina, quietly taking in the place.

As they moved through the halls she couldn't keep her eyes from going wide. A library bigger than her entire apartment. A piano lounge. A gym that looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel. She didn't have nearly enough time to absorb all of it.

"Do you live here alone?" she asked, catching up to Alejandro even knowing he might not answer. She asked anyway.

He glanced over his shoulder. "I work too much to entertain company."

"Clearly."

He stopped in front of a glass door that opened onto a terrace overlooking Salamanca. "Miss Rivas, privacy here is non-negotiable," he said evenly. "No guests without my approval, no interaction with the press, no wandering where you don't belong. Stay in your room unless I say otherwise."

Catalina crossed her arms. "Understood. No curiosity, no fun, just sitting here in captivity."

He looked at her, and for a second she thought he might smile. Then his expression locked back into place. "I'm not paying you for fun or freedom. Follow the rules and in a few months you'll be gone."

She fired back before she could stop herself. "You're not paying me to be quiet either, but that seems to be your favorite thing."

Nina cleared her throat behind them, reminding Catalina they weren't alone.

"Miss Rivas," Alejandro said finally, "this arrangement only works if you follow my lead. My family will see only what I want them to see. You'll smile when I say, speak when necessary, and never forget that this is a business."

She wanted to say something sharp, something that would crack that perfect composure of his, but the look in his eyes stopped her. So she nodded and said nothing.

"Good," he said, turning away. "Tomorrow you'll meet with my stylist. She'll handle everything for the gala."

---

The next morning started with a knock at the door.

"Miss Rivas?"

Catalina groaned, burying her face in the pillow. "Please tell me it's still dark outside."

"It's eight thirty," Nina said firmly. "You have an appointment."

Less than an hour later Catalina was standing in front of three stylists who looked like they'd stepped straight out of a fashion editorial. Clothes, fabric swatches, trays of jewelry - everything gleamed.

"Mr. Montoya said elegant, not princess," one of them murmured, circling her. "We need something understated."

Catalina blinked. "Understated? You mean affordable?"

"You'll see." One of the women smiled, a dimple showing at the corner.

Two hours, a hundred outfits, and a hair consultation later, Catalina barely recognized herself. Her hair fell in glossy waves over one shoulder, her makeup subtle but transforming. The dress was midnight blue, fitted in all the right places, with a slit just high enough to make her nervous.

When she came back into the penthouse living room Alejandro was waiting, adjusting his cufflinks. He looked up and his mouth opened.

"Too much?" she asked, self-conscious, tugging at her dress.

His voice came out low. "No. It's fine."

"Fine?" She raised an eyebrow. "That's all?"

He cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "You'll do."

She smiled thinly. "You really know how to make a girl feel special."

He gave her a look that could have been exasperation or restraint. She couldn't tell which.

---

The gala was held in the Torre Montoya ballroom. All chandeliers, champagne, and money. Cameras flashed as they arrived, Alejandro's hand steady at the small of her back, the warmth of it sending confusing sparks through her nerves.

"Smile," he murmured. "They're watching."

She lifted her chin, forced composure, played the part. He steered her through introductions - business partners, investors, politicians. She nodded and smiled and let him lead. But every so often she caught him watching her, like he was gauging how convincingly she was playing his game.

Then she noticed the man across the room. Arrogant smile, not bothering to hide that he was staring.

"Who is that?" she whispered, her palm going damp. His gaze made her uneasy.

"Matteo Del Castillo," Alejandro said slowly, voice low. "That bastard."

Before he could say more or she could ask, Matteo was already crossing toward them, smiling the kind of smile that hides a blade.

"Alejandro Montoya," he said, drawing out the name. "I hadn't realized congratulations were in order. Fiancée, hm?" His gaze slid to Catalina, lazy and sharp. "You've upgraded."

Alejandro's hand tightened slightly at her waist. "Matteo." His voice was flat. "Always a pleasure."

Matteo's smile deepened. "You wouldn't mind if I asked her to dance?"

"She's not available," Alejandro said, polite but final. "Don't make me say it twice."

"Oh, I see," Matteo said lightly, eyes gleaming. "Then maybe you wouldn't mind proving it."

Alejandro didn't take the bait right away. He held Matteo's gaze for a long moment, the kind of silence that made the air feel thick, before Matteo finally smiled to himself and drifted away, dissolving into the crowd as easily as he'd appeared.

Alejandro turned to her then, expression still unreadable but something quieter underneath it.

"They're watching," he murmured, low enough for only the two of them.

His hand moved up her back, firm and sure. He drew her close - close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him, close enough that the noise of the room seemed to pull back and leave just the two of them standing in the middle of it all.

"Alejandro," she whispered, her heart hitting hard against her ribs.

His gaze dropped to her lips. "Smile," he said softly. "And don't flinch."

Then slowly, he leaned in, his mouth a breath away from hers, the whole world holding still around them.

The kiss didn't happen. Not really. It just sat there between them, close enough that she felt it without it actually landing, and then he pulled back the way he always did, calm, composed, completely unreadable, and just like that the moment was gone.

She stood there trying to collect herself while people clapped around them and cameras went off and she smiled because that was the job. Her heart was still going too fast. Nobody needed to know that.

"That was for the show," he said, low, just for her.

"I know," she said, and her voice came out softer than she meant it to, and she saw him notice, saw something shift in his face before he shut it down and turned to walk her out.

The drive back was quiet. Not comfortable quiet, the other kind. Catalina kept her eyes on the window and her arms crossed and told herself she was fine.

"You didn't have to make it that convincing," she said, after a while.

"It was for appearances." Just that. "That's what this is."

She laughed a little. Not because anything was funny. "Sometimes I honestly can't tell if you're a person or just a very well-dressed wall."

He looked at her. One second. "Walls don't get hurt," he said, and looked back out the window.

She didn't have anything to say to that. So she didn't say anything.

---

Back at the penthouse she went straight to her room, took off the dress, lay on top of the covers and stared at the ceiling. Two months. She kept saying it to herself. Two months and she could walk away from all of this with her life back. She believed it until she got bored of lying there and went to look for something to read.

She fell asleep on the sofa by accident, book on her chest, city lights doing a bad job of being a night light.

She woke up warm.

There was a blanket over her. She hadn't put it there. She stayed still for a moment, just sitting with that, then looked toward the study. Light under the door was off. Penthouse quiet.

She pulled the blanket tighter and stared at the ceiling and tried very hard not to think about what it meant that he'd done that without saying anything about it.

---

Morning. He was already at the table when she came down, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, looking like a man who had absolutely not been putting blankets on sleeping women at two in the morning. She poured herself a coffee. Sat across from him. Neither of them said anything about it.

But something was different after that. Nothing she could name. Just different.

---

A few days later she went to the kitchen half asleep, still in this oversized shirt that had been Javier's that she kept not throwing away, thinking about nothing except coffee, and almost walked straight into Alejandro. Standing at the counter, no shirt, pouring coffee like that was a completely normal thing to be doing.

She stopped.

He looked up. "There's fresh coffee."

"Do you own pajamas," she said. "Or like. Normal clothes. Like a person."

"You're in my house," he said, and the corner of his mouth did that thing.

"Right." She squeezed past him to get a mug. "Forgot the dress code."

He laughed. Not a polite one. A real one, short and quiet, like it surprised him too. She kept her eyes on her coffee and let him pretend it hadn't happened but she was smiling the whole time and she was pretty sure he knew it.

---

Things got easier after that. Not in one go, just slowly, the way ice melts when you're not paying attention. Nina started leaving tea out without being asked. The driver started playing soul music without her having to say anything. Small stuff. It added up.

One afternoon she mentioned a stray cat she'd seen near the building, mentioned it to no one really, the way you say things out loud that aren't going anywhere.

Three days later the cat was in the garage. Fed. Clean. Little bed in the corner.

She went to find Alejandro.

"The cat," she said.

He didn't look up from his laptop. "Nina handled it."

She looked at him a second. "Right," she said. "Of course she did." And she left, and she was almost certain she heard him exhale when she walked away.

---

The first time she saw how tired he actually was, was a Thursday. Past midnight, light still on under the study door. She knocked before she could talk herself out of it.

He was at his desk, tie loose, whisky going warm beside him, staring at a stack of papers like he hated them personally. The room smelled like a long day.

"Long day?" she said.

"I don't remember the last time it wasn't."

She sat down across from him. "You should sleep."

He looked up. "Sleep doesn't fix betrayal."

She felt that somewhere in her chest, quiet. "Who betrayed you?"

He looked at her for a long moment. "Everyone does, eventually," he said, soft, and went back to his papers.

She thought about Javier. She'd been meaning to say something for a while now, kept finding reasons not to, kept telling herself there'd be a better time.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you-"

His phone buzzed. He glanced at it and just like that the tiredness was gone, back behind that face he wore when he was being professional. "Change of plans. Event tonight. Get ready."

And he was already standing.

She let him go. There'd be another moment.

---

The event was a rooftop thing. Smaller than the gala but somehow heavier, the kind of room where everyone's watching each other from behind nice smiles. Catalina had gotten good at this by now, the smiling, the small talk, standing next to him in a way that looked like it meant something. She'd gotten good at the whole thing.

What she hadn't gotten good at was the way he looked at her sometimes when he thought she wasn't looking. Like he was trying to figure something out and wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

She told herself it was just the role.

Then Lucía walked in. Red dress. Perfectly timed. Eyes going straight to Alejandro across the room like she'd done it a hundred times before.

"You stopped picking up," she said. Warm voice. Direct.

Catalina felt him go still beside her. "Lucía."

Lucía looked Catalina over. Slow. "So this is the new charity case."

"Watch your tone," Alejandro said, quiet.

Lucía smiled like she hadn't heard him. "Careful, sweetheart. Men like him don't fall in love. They make arrangements."

Catalina smiled back, all warmth. "Weird, I didn't know exes came with warning labels."

Something moved across Lucía's face. Alejandro's hand pressed into her back and steered her away before anything else could happen.

---

They ended up at the far edge of the terrace. City below them. Neither of them talking for a bit.

"I had her," Catalina said.

"I know."

"Then why."

He was quiet. "Because I didn't want to stand there watching her talk to you like that."

She looked at him. He was looking at the city, jaw tight, not looking back, and she turned back to the railing. They were close, closer than they needed to be, and she was very aware of that, and she had a feeling he was too. She thought about the blanket. The cat. The laugh in the kitchen. All these small things that kept happening and kept not meaning anything and kept adding up anyway.

"Alejandro," she said.

He turned, and his phone rang.

He picked up. The moment was gone. The night kept going.

---

Later she was on the terrace when she heard him come up behind her.

"Lucía won't bother you again."

"You made sure of that?"

"Nobody gets to treat what's mine like that."

She turned around. "I'm not yours. Two months and this is over."

He looked at her, that expression she could never read, then almost smiled. "Get some rest. Tomorrow you meet my family."

Catalina's eyes went wide, memories flooding in all at once.

"The Montoyas?"

Alejandro's smile faltered. He gave her a look. "Why that tone?"

"You're just telling me now. I'm not even ready," she murmured, cold sweat running down her back.

"Well." He rolled his eyes, same flat indifference in his voice. "Last I checked, that's why you're here."

Catalina took a slow breath. She was thinking about what it would be like to have dinner with the Montoyas again. Their territory. That coldness toward ordinary people. All of it made her tense.

Maybe this was the right moment to tell him about Javier. Before he found out on his own.

Alejandro moved quietly toward the water dispenser, poured himself a glass, leaned against the wall and watched her. Not obviously. But she felt it.

She always felt it. That small pull in her chest. But there were more pressing things crowding her head right now.

"You're overthinking," he said finally, voice calm, almost dismissive. "It's just my family. Not gods."

Catalina shrugged, going for unbothered. "Am I?" she said, leaning back against the sofa. "I'm just. Scared."

He looked at her for a long moment. "Fear rarely helps," he said quietly. "Usually just makes things worse."

She caught something in his eyes right then, a flicker of something, and for a second she almost convinced herself it wasn't there.

"Maybe that's why I like it," she said softly. "Complications make things interesting. A little drama never hurt anyone."

A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, barely there. "You're dangerous," he murmured, turning away.

"Dangerous is a little much, if you ask me," she said, catching his eyes again. Same as she'd been doing all night.

The air went thick between them. Two people thinking different things in the same silence.

"I should get some water too," she murmured, breaking it, and walked quickly toward the kitchen.

Alejandro watched her go. Almost laughed. Didn't. Followed.

Catalina was tracing the rim of a glass with her finger, not really thinking about it. Alejandro reached past her for a water bottle and for a second their arms touched. Just that. The warmth of it. The awareness.

"You don't have to be careful around me," she said, testing the air. "And I thought you already had water."

He didn't answer right away. His hand stayed close to hers on the counter and she saw it again, that thing in his face, a flicker of something uncertain.

"Caution is necessary," he said finally. Clipped. But softer than before.

"I can handle it," she said, small smile. "I've survived harder things than quiet penthouses and private billionaires."

He studied her. Long, quiet, like he was taking the measure of something deeper than what she was saying.

Then he turned back to the counter and opened the fridge, precise movements, no wasted motion. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It had its own language. Full of things neither of them was saying.

---

They ended up on the terrace. City lights below, cold and far away. Catalina leaned against the railing and looked out. Alejandro stood just behind her, hands in his pockets.

"You overthink," he said. Almost to himself.

"Do I," she said softly, leaning a little further over the edge. "Didn't know you noticed."

He didn't answer right away. When he did his voice was careful.

"People like you feel everything," he said, and paused. "It's dangerous sometimes." His jaw tightened and she noticed it, that small betrayal of more than he meant to say.

Catalina tilted her head, curious, gently pressing. "Dangerous how?"

He let the question sit in the night air for a moment. Then, almost reluctantly:

"Because some things aren't meant to be felt that deeply. Not everyone can handle it."

"I can," she said quietly, like she was trying to believe it herself.

He didn't answer. But she saw it again, that softness she knew he hadn't meant to show.

"Remember," she whispered, "this is just a transaction." Reminding him. Or maybe herself.

"I never said it wasn't." His voice came out rough, and even though she hated it, Catalina wanted to be wrapped up in his arms right then, that rough voice saying something entirely different in her ear.

But it was just a contract. Love was never one of the clauses.

"Sleep well, princess," he said, and leaning in, pressed a slow kiss to her forehead.